


west side

by powderblew



Series: clear skies and warm nostalgia [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst why do you all do this to me, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I cannot write angst for my life, Miscommunication, Requested, but it's really Idiots to Real Lovers, or something, reader is female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powderblew/pseuds/powderblew
Summary: Follow his emotions and show up. —Oikawa/Reader
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Series: clear skies and warm nostalgia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192649
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	west side

She hates drinking.

She absolutely detests the taste, the expense, and its hype. She can’t deny the fact that she likes the way it burns her throat or the warm feeling that curls in the pit of her throat after a sip. She never liked drinking, never even needed it, not until she met Oikawa—well, until she _met_ Oikawa.

She rolls the word _met_ like it’s a concept, an unidentified object that needs consideration and studying from multiple points of view.

From awkward adolescent friendship, to something stable, to adult friendship and whatever mess they fell into.

_Met._

Can she truly know Tooru without sleeping with him?

She blinks the sleep away from the corners of her eyes and glances at the ceiling. Dark eyes lighten when she refocuses on the lines of her palm.

She can’t answer that question; it’s too late now.

.

They fell into it with the same nonchalance Oikawa has when he does a dribble. That kind of ease, the sweet sigh of his mouth when he presses her close to his chest when her fingers graze the back of his neck and he shivers. It was normal, it was easy—they were simple. Simple. Should it be like this? Should they be like this?

She has read novels, seen movies, and contemplated about it.

Shouldn’t there be excitement? Fire? Energy? Something? She’s thinking about this too much, she knows that much, but she can’t help it.

Oikawa and her were like—they were like a stroll.

A _stroll._

She wonders if she has to put everything in metaphors – the glass on the counter – and presses her hands to her face.

The sky could crash and burn, the moon could fall into the ocean, the earth can rip apart at the seams, but Tooru and her will walk hand in hand while the world falls apart around them. That’s how it’s always been and maybe that’s how it always will be.

.

Oikawa is the one that suggested that they sleep together—in the least romantic way as possible.

She’s not sure how it happened, there’s that stupid word _virginity_ and then he kisses her. He kisses her and she swears her heart had stopped—swore the world stopped and time ceased to exist. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. It tilts, she realizes, her heart tilts until it’s set against his, beating like a thing—something.

He loses his sense in her mouth, the touch of her skin, the texture of her hair, and the way she hums when he nips at her jaw.

“Can you jump?” he murmurs against her throat then and she barely keeps up.

It’s fine.

Tooru will take care of her; he always does.

.

“It’s been how many months?” Kokoro asks from the corner of the room, her feet tucked underneath the chair and a palm under her chin.

“Six months?” she wants to sound confused, but she knows _exactly_ how many months it’s been.

“Since you’ve been sleeping together?” she quirks a thin brow and frowns, “He’s been your best friend for years, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I know,” she sighs and knots a hand in her hair, “Do I know what I’m doing? Yes. Is it a good idea,” she thinks about it and smiles self-deprecatingly, “Probably not.”

.

It’s his idea, that’s what she repeats to herself when she second-guesses the situation—them.

When Oikawa comes back from a match, bubbling with excitement, adrenaline thumping his ears, blood rushing in his veins and the sweet edge of victory dripping from his teeth—he’s frantic as he is overjoyed.

There is excitement in his kiss, peppering her face with tiny nibbles and then his thumbs dig into the base of her spine.

It’s enough to wipe her mind clean.

.

Things are still normal, normal in the – yes we’re sleeping together but we still do friend-stuff, whatever constitutes as friend stuff but we don’t define anything because we are cowards – type of deal.

“Do you wanna get dinner?” Oikawa sends a text to one of his teammates and leans back in his chair while she fiddles with her pen.

“Where?” she asks distantly, almost too distracted by the anti-derivatives on her paper; she winces.

“We can go to that sushi place down by the mall,” he hums and curls his ankle around her chair.

“Kumiko’s?” she frowns and presses a hand against her textbook, “Are they still open? It is a Thursday.”

“What’s that got to do with ordering take-out?”

She rolls her eyes, “How about we can’t eat if they aren’t open?”

“Oh,”

She pauses, puts her pen down, and swirls in her chair to look at him. She deadpans, “You’re distracted.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to her nose, “Iwaizumi wants to know if you want to get drinks tonight. They’ll have food obviously – you get grumpy when you don’t eat, don’t give me that look! – and the team will be there. Sort of a pre-toast to our next game we’ll win.”

She frowns, “You’re far too cocky, Tooru,” and then rolls her eyes when he pouts, “What time?”

“An hour and a half,” Oikawa smiles and presses a kiss to her head, “I’ll take a shower while you finish that…thing.”

“It’s called _math,_ Tooru!”

“Like it makes a difference.”

.

She doesn’t know how she got here—in this situation. Situation. Yes, this constitutes as a situation, because she was sitting at the bar, minding her own business, eating a plate of fries, while Tooru – the Gods know where – was signing some autographs in the corner of the bar without a few of his teammates when a guy walks up to her and starts talking.

Starts talking, like she invited him—or even _looked_ at him.

Is it so hard, to eat a plate of French fries in peace?

She really doesn’t think she’s asking for much.

He’s not bad looking, but he speaks a lot – not as much as Tooru that man can go a mile a minute if she gives him all her attention – and puts his hand on her elbow. She wonders if she should play along or kick his shin. Then he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and a hand—

—hand, Oikawa’s hand, sharp like lightning, grabs the offending appendage in a tight, white-knuckled grip.

The air in her chest rattles like the wind in a closed cage.

“Get your hands _off_ my girlfriend,” Oikawa snaps, and the beginnings of a snarl edge the blackened tip of his voice.

Her eyes widen.

_Girlfriend?_

Girlfriend.

_Girlfriend?!_

Since _when,_ has she been Oikawa’s girlfriend – the word is like a weight rocking the sides of a boat, the tip nearly a full fumble – she doesn’t remember ever agreeing to that, speaking about that, because they were so _normal_ —

—normal.

“Girlfriend?” she hears herself say aloud when the offending male leaves their side and blinks rapidly. She twists in her chair and stands suddenly; everything is dizzy. The air, the lights, the smell of Oikawa and it’s the alcohol. The alcohol and sniffs; she tries to be intimidating when she pins his feral gaze with one of her own, but she comes off as assessing. “Since _when_ have I been your girlfriend, Oikawa?”

He _hates_ when she uses his last name—almost as if there’s this distance he can’t close.

“What the hell do you mean _when_?” Oikawa scowls a furious mar of lips and teeth and his fists clench at his sides, “We’ve been together for six months!”

Oh.

_Oh._

This is a mess—a mess that she isn’t going to clean up because this is Oikawa’s fault.

“And when,” she pauses to try and collect her thoughts—it’s hard, especially when her heart is beating this fast and the heat is rushing to her cheeks, “ _When_ , did you ask me to be your girlfriend? Hm? All this time I thought—”

“—thought what?” he follows your line of thinking – just like that – it’s one of the things she loves about him, how quick he picks up what she’s saying and the connection she makes, “Thought that I would sleep with my best friend for sex? My partner in crime, my soulmate—the one person who knows me better,” his voice cracks and she needs to fix—this, everything. “Than anyone else. That I would just—”

She cups his face with two hands, leaning upwards, and stills him. Stills the world around them.

And it _clicks._

Because Oikawa Tooru is home and nothing should be more comfortable—more safe than home.

“I didn’t want to have this conversation,” she admits quietly – alcohol makes her braver, stronger, weaker – and presses her thumb against his jawbone, “Because I was scared of the conversation because I didn’t want this to end if—if you decided that it wasn’t worth it anymore. So I didn’t say anything—”

—so they don’t say anything.

Oikawa kisses her instead and that’s all that she needs to know.


End file.
